


The Glacier Knocks in the Cupboard

by abigail89



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Friends to Lovers, M/M, POV Third Person, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-15
Updated: 2012-10-15
Packaged: 2017-11-16 09:09:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/537808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abigail89/pseuds/abigail89
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Molly, Hermione & Minerva observe Harry and Severus interacting; it's clear something is going on.</p><p>Written for this prompt: #162: Outsider POV: Possibly Hermione or anyone's take on a Snarry relationship which develops whilst they're still at Hogwarts (either HBP or going off-canon).</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Glacier Knocks in the Cupboard

**Author's Note:**

> I took some huge liberties with the prompt. I prefer to write Harry & Severus's relationship after Harry becomes an adult, so I pushed beyond canon. Generous appearances by Molly Weasley, Hermione Granger, Minvera McGonagall, and an unnamed Healer.
> 
> The title comes from a W. H. Auden poem. Written for the 2012 Snarry-A-Thon.

I.  _16 August 1996_  
  
The pantry off the kitchen was finally in some semblance of order. When Arthur had suggested they try the Expansion charm on the closet-sized pantry early on in their marriage, the days when they only had two boys (and another on the way), Molly had been beside herself. Imagine having an entire _room_  to store food items and pots, pans and bottles of butterbeer and then be able to lock the door and keep inquiring little hands off her good copper cookware and away from the biscuit barrel. Whenever Molly walked into the pantry it gave her a bit of a thrill knowing she and her husband had worked on and perfected the enormously difficult charm, and it became something of a specialty of theirs. It was quite helpful for when they went camping in the little tent Arthur's uncle had given them last Christmas. . . .  
  
She placed several tinned items on the top shelf, just some soups and beans, something for any member of the Order to eat in a jiffy or in an emergency. So many attacks recently had made it nearly impossible to meet on a regular basis. Since the house at Grimmauld Place was no longer available to the Order, she and Arthur had made the difficult decision to have the Order meet at a small house in the village. Ottery St. Catchpole was out of the way, sleepy, unnoticeable. But as in most small villages in Britain, a number of wizarding families made their homes unobtrusively amongst the unsuspecting Muggles. The fact that there were Apparations and Disapparations went unnoticed by most, including the Dark Lord's followers. Messages sent via owl were off-limits, but sending them via a Patronus worked much more efficiently; the drop behind the twins' shop was useful, but they were going to have to move it soon. So far, George and Fred had been able to keep attention off of themselves, despite the garish sign advertising  _Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes_ , and their outrageous success. They were also outrageous and successful bullshitters, and attempts to suss out any information by the Ministry for Magic or Voldemort's lackeys resulted in them pissing off or frustrating whatever poor bugger had been sent on such a futile mission. Fred and George, she wasn't worried about them—too much.  
  
The others would be safely ensconced at Hogwarts. Safe for now. The debacle with Dolores Umbridge had served to prove just how vulnerable the school could become if Dumbledore's attention wasn't focused. Molly leaned against the sideboard, rubbing her arms. When would they be safe again? All the magic in the world couldn't save them if the Dark Lord continued his reign of terror, frightening the good and honourable of Britain. They could hide, but what would that serve? The Death Eaters would take over, and they'd never get their lives back; their children would face not just an uncertain future, but one without hope.  
  
And to think, if Dumbledore was right, that their future rested on the slender shoulders of a 16-year-old boy, one full of grief and self-loathing. She knew Harry Potter was resilient; he had had a rough life, had seen more terrible things than any boy his age had a right or need to. It wasn't fair, and it wasn't right. The only thing she could do was to help keep him safe until he returned to the school, along with her two youngest children, back to the protection of the ancient castle and its powerful headmaster.  
  
Sighing, she turned back to the shelving behind her, full of mostly sorted pots and pans. Some of them were quite old; several had come from her mother's mother, but they were still completely acceptable. If the way of the world continued as it was, then she'd be using a lot of those pans to keep the Order, an army, fed. Pushing that thought aside, she waved her wand again and the iron skillets righted themselves according to size and shape.   
  
Molly prepared to exit the pantry when she saw a tall, dark figure pass by the door and a low voice say something in greeting. She moved over to her left to gain a better vantage and saw that Harry had come into the kitchen and taken a seat in the upholstered chair in the corner, similar to the one Sirius loved to sit in at night, enjoying a cuppa, in the dining room at his parents' house. Sirius had told her that Azkaban had taught him that the simplest things were the best, and the freedom to have a cup of tea and to read a book of his own choosing ranked at the top of a very short list. Harry was seated with a mug in his hand and—Severus Snape was seated just to his left at the table.  
  
She considered intervening, knowing Harry and Snape were at odds. Ron had told her about the disastrous Occlumency lessons Albus had encouraged the boy to take from the stern potions master. Harry had always returned from the late-night tuitions shaking and pale. One time Harry, Ron had reported, had bruise marks on his upper arm; he'd denied Snape had done anything to him, but Ron had been angry. With Ron's pinched and worried face in her mind, Molly would watch, then, to make sure Harry would be all right.  
  
And Severus. Despite what her children thought of him,  _she_  knew the younger man. Despite Severus's own apparent disdain for Harry Potter,  _she_  had divined there was something much deeper, much more primal that guided Severus Snape, that motivated him to spy on Voldemort and his minions for the Order, that kept him in Albus's good graces despite his caustic demeanor. And despite it all, she trusted him.   
  
Harry turned away from Severus as the professor tried to speak. Severus reached out to the boy, but Harry withdrew even more. The outstretched hand then turned palm up, in entreaty. His voice was low and somewhat solicitous. Harry shook his head, and tried to get up, but Severus intervened, with words and his body. There was a way around, a way for Harry to easily slip by the man, but Harry sat back in the chair, this time with his feet planted and his elbows on his knees; his head dropped into his hands.  
  
Severus leaned over, speaking to Harry, but never touching him. Molly watched as Severus continued to talk to him, his shoulder-length hair swaying slightly as his head moved. Harry lifted his head and his eyes, bright green behind the round glasses focused on Severus's face, his eyes of course. Harry's face, a stony mask of anger, softened into something more undefined, then he tore his face away.  
  
“You hated him!”  
  
Harry leapt to his feet, and Severus followed. Molly moved further into the pantry, hoping she would not be noticed, but held her wand at the ready, hoping she wouldn't have to intervene between the two. Harry was defensive and angry, and Severus was—entreating. Hands held open before him, no wand in sight.  
  
“Black and I had our differences, yes,” Severus said louder, “but I did not wish death upon him.”  
  
“Liar!” Harry looked as if he was ready to take flight, but then he slumped back against the wall.   
  
“Potter, I know—I know that Black was innocent, I know that now. And yes, I knew he wanted to create a home for you and with you. He looked forward to it, really.”  
  
“And how do you know that?”  
  
Severus looked at him steadily, and breathed in deeply. “Because while you were languishing with your relatives, I spent a great deal of time at Grimmauld Place. We...talked.” She heard a soft snort. “Yes, even Black and I were capable of civil discourse, especially since the Headmaster insisted on it. I supposed we would never be friends, but we were, as incredible as it sounds, cordial. We were, after all, working together towards mutual ends.”  
  
“You mean Order business?”  
  
Severus inclined his head. “Yes, precisely. Sirius had some. . .unique tactical ideas that would be useful for approaching the Death Eaters, should we come to physical confrontation.”  
  
Now it was Harry's turn to snort. “You really think we can avoid fighting them hand to hand?”  
  
Severus fell silent, then said, “No, I do not. Which is why the loss of Sirius will be keenly felt when the time comes.” After a moment, he said, “I am sorry for your loss, Potter. Truly.”  
  
Molly heard the sincerity bleed through in the man's voice, and from the looks of the more open stance of Harry, he had heard, and accepted, it as well. “Thank you. I just—I just wish we'd had more time together.” He hung his head.  
  
Severus raised his hand as if to touch him, but them allowed it to drop, slowly. “I am sorry for that, too, Harry.”  
  
Harry raised his head to look at his professor, and gave him a grim smile. “Do you realize that's the first time you've ever called me by my first name?”  
  
“Don't get used to it,” Severus said. “If you'd been paying attention, you'd realize I do not call anyone by their given names.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“Why? Because you are my students, not my friends. I wish to only teach you the course material and then be rid of you. Forever, truth be known.”  
  
Harry barked a sharp laugh. “No casual gatherings for tea in your office after hours, then?”  
  
“Certainly not,” Severus replied. “Why on earth would I want you cretins in my personal space?”  
  
“Oh, I don't know. We're not so bad. You were a student once.”  
  
“ _I_  was never like the lot of you. You all are lazy, thoughtless and shallow.”  
  
Harry laughed again. “Good to know we're back to the being ourselves, then.”  
  
Severus's face grew serious. “Yes. We must continue the discord between us. Your friends, and more important, your  _enemies_  must see that things have not changed between us. Do you understand why?”  
  
Harry nodded, but there was a look of regret on his face. “Of course.”  
  
Severus gave him a curt nod, and leaned in to say something in Harry's ear. Molly watched but could only see a huge smile break across Harry's face, and Severus give his arm a small squeeze before he turned and strode away briskly, out of the kitchen and through the door to the garden. She heard a sharp crack of Apparition, and then silence.  
  
She came out of the pantry and watched as Harry pressed his nose and hand to the window overlooking the now deserted garden. He stood there for a very long time.  
  
* * * * *

  
II.  _3 May 1998_  
  
Hermione caught up with him just as he was about to exit the castle.   
  
“No, I have to go back to him!”  
  
Hermione grimaced. “Harry, you don't have to. You're injured yourself. You really should have that cut on your head looked at.”  
  
They stood in the rubble of the once-magnificent foyer of the castle. Rocks and mortar, shattered glass and twisted iron was scattered all about. The late morning sun shone brightly through the cracks in the stone walls still standing. The great oak doors had been blown off and all that was left of one was a slender sliver clinging to the frame.  
  
Harry swiped across his forehead at the dried blood. “I'm fine, really.” He looked into and around the Great Hall at the people who were left. “Hermione, I need to do this.”  
  
“But. . .he's going to be dead, you know.” She hesitated. “Why would you want to see him again?”  
  
Harry considered her question.  _Because of what he was to my mother? Because I know he was dedicated to Dumbledore, to the Order? Because I know the truth? The truth about who he really was? Because he saved--_  He couldn't even begin to wrap his mind around everything he'd seen in the Pensieve. He needed to think about it, think about what Dumbledore had always said about Snape; he needed to reconcile the fleeting moments of support the man had shown him with how he treated him and his fellow students with the  _truth_. And Hermione, she needed to know the truth about Snape, but not right now. Not until he himself could understand, could say the words, could  _believe_  it.   
  
Right now, every bit of his being was pushing him back to the Shrieking Shack. He couldn't explain it, couldn't understand it, but it just had to be done. And that was all he knew.  
  
“Look, don't you need to be here with the Weasleys?” Harry asked. “One of us should stay with them, make sure they're all right.”  
  
Hermione shook her head. “They're getting ready to Apparate back to The Burrow. George and Bill are going to take Fred's. . . body after Madam Pomfrey confirms the death certificate with the Ministry." She rubbed her forehead and looked like she was going to fall over, but she shook it off and looked up at Harry with clearer eyes. “Until they release Fred's body, there's nothing much to do. Ron is going back with Mr and Mrs Weasley.”  
  
“Then you should go.”  
  
“No! I mean. . .really, I don't want to intrude. Ron wants us both with him, and we will, won't we, Harry? We'll both be there.”  
  
Harry hadn't thought about anything beyond the moment. He was tired, so tired. The adrenaline that had kept him going after Voldemort died had stopped flowing long ago; talking to fellow students and teachers and friends afterwards had been a rush, but that, too, had ended. He  _needed_  to see Snape's body, if only to confirm his death, and then, only then did he think he could rest.  
  
But he did make one decision. “Well, come on, Hermione. I want to do this and then try to get some sleep.”  
  
Hermione turned and waved at Ron, who flapped one hand back at them. He had his arm around a sleeping Ginny and looked like he wasn't at all curious about where they were going. That was fine with Harry; he'd fill Ron in when they returned.  
  
They walked out of the castle and made their way to the edge of the Hogwarts grounds. Once there, they Apparated to the Shrieking Shack, just outside the creaking wooden building. In the bright light of day the structure was nondescript, with peeling paint and one broken window.   
  
Harry looked around. “Do you know I've never entered through the front door?” he said, laughing. “Not sure where everything is from the outside.”  
  
“It's over here,” she said, leading him around to the left.  
  
The question  _How the hell do you know that?_  nearly burst forth but he caught it in time. This is  _Hermione_ , after all. She probably saw a map in  _Hogwarts, A History_.  
  
She waved her wand and the lock snicked open. The door was amazingly sturdy and heavy, but it, too, opened easily. Immediately, dust and funk assaulted them.   
  
“Ugh!” Hermione said, sneezing and covering her nose with her hand. “I think there may be more than one dead body in here.”  
  
They moved slowly through the foyer and down a narrow hallway; this part of the building was unfamiliar to him. Several rooms came off the hall, but were empty. If there was another dead body, Harry didn't want to know about it.  
  
They came to the landing that was familiar and off to one side was the hatch in the floor that led to the underground tunnel. The stairs that led to the rooms where they confronted Sirius and Remus that day and the room where they saw Voldemort confront Snape were up there. . .  
  
As they ascended, Harry noticed the funky smell grew weaker, not stronger, and that made him cautiously optimistic. Of what, he wasn't certain, but it was nice—well,  _nicer_  that they didn't need to use a Bubblehead charm to get through the door.  
  
Harry stood in front of the door and looked over at Hermione, who was biting her lower lip. He looked back at the door, and sighed. “Well, let's see. . .”  
  
He pushed the door open and found a pool of blackened, dried blood, but no body. Hermione pushed past him. “He's gone?” she cried. “But we saw him die!”  
  
“We saw him pass out, that was for sure,” Harry said, looking about.   
  
The other end of the room was dark, heavy curtains blocked the light in the windows. There was a bed in the corner and that's when they heard the groan.  
  
Hermione rushed over. “Harry!” she screamed.  
  
Harry turned and ran to her. Lying on the dusty and ruined bed was Severus Snape. Open at the throat and down his chest, his white shirt was dark red, ripped. His lips were nearly as pale as the skin on his torso. Harry placed his hand on Snape's chest and placed his ear close to his mouth. “He's warm and he's still breathing. I can feel his heart beating, but it's faint, like it's fluttering or something.”  
  
Hermione drew in a breath. “He's lost a lot of blood; he's in shock. Harry, we have to get him out of here.”  
  
Harry quickly lay down beside him. “I'm going to side-along him to the Hogsmeade gate. You can run to the castle for help.”   
  
At the same instant they Apparated out of the Shrieking Shack.  
  
Hermione landed in the center of the path just outside the entrance to the Hogwarts grounds, but Harry and Snape were not there. “Harry!” she called. “Harry!”  
  
“Over here.”  
  
She ran towards Harry's voice and found them landed in a clearing surrounded by fir trees. Snape's face was contorted in a rictus of pain. Harry was murmuring a spell over the wound in his neck. “Hermione,” Harry whispered, “it opened up again. It's not gushing but he can't lose any more blood.”  
  
“Let me help.”  
  
“Then go find Madam Pomfrey. I'll stay here. I can defend him in case anyone comes by. Go!”  
  
Hermione rose up and started towards the castle, but got only a few steps away. “I know a better way to do this,” she said to herself. She thought quickly, conjured her Patronus, and composed a brief message. With a fleeting smile at her writhing otter, she sent it on its way.  
  
She turned back to find Harry kneeling beside Snape, who was shaking though still unconscious. Harry 's hand was on Snape's bare chest and he was wiping his wand in small, slow circles over the wound, which was closed but seeping. Harry had his eyes closed as if in concentration. Not knowing what else to do, Hermione knelt at Snape's head and watched.  
  
Time seemed to stand still in the moments between waiting and action. Harry kept murmuring the words of a spell she did not recognize, but every once in a while he would shudder and drop his head.  
  
“Wake up, wake up please,” she heard him muttering. “Don't leave me.”  
  
 _That_  startled her, more so than the fact Harry knew a spell she didn't. Harry had never liked nor trusted Snape. Ever. Their relationship was contentious, and at times nonexistent; there were times when they refused to even acknowledge the other. Snape had defined how they would relate to each other in Harry's very first potions class meeting. And it had only gotten worse over the years. Harry couldn't stand the man, especially after the Occlumency lessons, which Harry had never mastered. True, Hermione believed, Harry didn't really try, mostly because he thought having access to Voldemort's thoughts might help to defeat him. And, she conceded, he was right. But the cost to Harry had been enormous. His education had been compromised, and his life made infinitely complicated. Snape, too, played a role in that. DADA in their sixth year had been a complete washout for Harry; several times the two had come close to physical blows. Their confrontation in the Great Hall had shown vividly there was no love lost between them.  
  
Harry, Hermione reasoned, must have learned something from the memories that had oozed from Snape just hours before. She hoped he would discuss them with her before too long.  
  
“Miss Granger!”  
  
The loud voice pulled Hermione from her musings and she rose to run to the path. Professor McGonagall and Professor Babbling were hurrying towards the gate. Hermione cried, “Professor! Over here!”  
  
McGonagall burst through the gate first. “Miss Granger, what on earth--”  
  
“We found Professor Snape!”  
  
The older witch paused as she took in the information and as she followed Hermione she came to a stop several feet from Harry and Snape. Her eyes grew wide when she realized what was happening.  
  
“Dear God, what has happened??”  
  
Hermione quickly filled her in on what Harry and she had witnessed in the Shrieking Shack, Snape's argument with Voldemort and the snake attack. “We thought he was dead, but when we went back to retrieve his body, we found him. He's barely alive.”  
  
“Minerva,” Prof. Babbling said, “this is  _Snape_. Why are we here? Just let the bastard die!”  
  
“No!” McGonagall and Harry shouted at once.  
  
“No, Professor Babbling," McGonagall said icily, "if you are unwilling to assist us in moving Severus to the castle, then you may leave us.”  
  
Prof. Babbling scowled but didn't reply. She gave a curt nod, then stepped back. “May I suggest,” she said, “we place Snape somewhere in the village? With the castle severely damaged and so many dead and injured still in the Great Hall, perhaps someplace more private so as not to inflame already high emotions?”  
  
Professor McGonagall and Hermione exchanged looks. “Perhaps you are correct. I shall go to Aberforth and see what can be arranged for the short term. Then I can bring Poppy to him.”  
  
“Professor,” Harry said quietly, “he needs assistance now. He was bitten by Nagini, just like Mr. Weasley was in my fifth year. There is a Healer at St. Mungo's who knows what potions to use to counteract the poison.”  
  
“True, but we have agreed we need to keep Severus's whereabouts secret for the moment, and involve as few persons as possible.”  
  
“Yes,” Harry conceded, “yes, please.”  
  
“Then I shall go. Miss Granger and Professor Babbling will remain with you.” With that, she Apparated away to the Hog's Head.  
  
Harry slumped over, his hand still clamped to the rag against the bite wound. Hermione fell to her knees beside him and put her arms around his shoulders. “It's all right, Harry,” she whispered. “We'll help save him.”  
  
He lifted his head and faced her. His eyes were ringed with smudges of black and purple, hollow with exhaustion. But the green burned brightly. “Thank you.”  
  
* * * * *

  
III.  **28 December 2000**  
  
Healer's Notes  
  
Patient: Severus Snape  
Condition: Conscious  
Potions: ½ Pepper Up; 1 restorative 2 x per day  
  
 _Pt continues to regain faculties after coma lasting 1 year, 7 months, 2 days. It is remarkable that pt can even sit up, but insists on doing so every day, and each day he remains up for a longer period. Today, he lasted for over three hours, but had to be helped into a supine position after complaining of back pain and a headache. Administered anti-pain potion (patient stated potion was sub-par and insisted that he speak to head potion maker.)  
  
Mr H. Potter remains patient's constant companion. He has been encouraging patient to try to stand and angering pt against healer's advice. Patient took fourteen steps today before having to sit again, but was pleased with result. Spoke to Mr Potter about not getting ahead of himself.   
  
Last week, he asked about physiotherapist to work with patient's muscle groups. When told St. Mungo's did not have such a person on staff he insisted that one from a Muggle institution be brought in to work with patient. When head of healing magic denied the request, Mr Potter asked to be able to Apparate pt to a Muggle clinic, which was immediately denied. Pt became agitated and requested Mr Potter be removed._  
  
 **15 January 2001**  
  
Patient: Severus Snape  
Condition: Improving  
Potions: ¼ Pepper Up; 1 restorative 1x day  
  
 _Pt had shown rapid improvement. Eating soft foods. Has regained enough strength to be moved to general ward, but was attacked by another pt family member. Moved to upper ward, private room. Pt can now visit loo with assistance. Pt still does not speak.  
  
Mr Potter continues to visit daily. Hired private physiotherapist to work with pt. large muscle groups. Vast improvement in pt mobility. Mr Potter and Mr Snape have not argued for 6 days._  
  
 **31 January 2001**  
  
Patient: Severus Snape  
Condition: Well  
Potions: 1 analgesic as needed  
  
 _Pt is fully walking with cane occasionally. Eating normally and gained ¼ stone. BP & breath sounds within acceptable ranges. Pt has regained part vocal capacity. Visual acuity good. Bowel/bladder void normal. Headaches infrequent and manageable.   
  
Has requested discharge; will be moved to Hogwarts School under Matron Pomfrey's supervision. Headmistress Minerva McGonagall has given approval for Mr Snape's transfer. [Article in Daily Prophet has cleared Mr Snape's reputation.]  
  
Mr Potter visits daily. Pt has responded socially and has smiled. A nurse heard them laughing last night.  
  
No other family or friends have ever visited._  
  
* * * * *

  
IV.  _16 July 2005_  
  
Students streamed around her, the noise positively deafening. Despite that, Minerva McGonagall stood at the massive oak doors at the front of the castle, bidding her students a pleasant farewell.   
  
“Headmistress!” a young voice cried. “I 'ope you 'ave a good break!”  
  
“Yes, Miss Foster, thank you. I wish the same for you,” Minerva responded. She was momentarily taken aback when the tall Irish girl, one of the best Quidditch players in the entire school, leaned over to gather Minvera in her arms.  
  
“I thank ye for all you have done,” the girl whispered. “Blessings to ye.”  
  
And then she was gone, her coppery hair shining in the bright summer sun. Minerva adjusted her hat and wiped her cheek.  
  
Several students came up to her to shake her hand and wish her well. She waved at students when they turned back to shout farewells to her.  _Really, when did these children grow up? Had they always been this respectful of their headmistress?_  
  
She sighed. The end of the school year was always a little bittersweet: regrets for material not covered, students who did poorly, guilt over students injured by their own stupidity or others' sheer meanness. It was as it always had been. Magical education was fraught with the danger of injury to self or others. Every single witch and wizard had been injured in the course of learning how to control ones' magic or to defend against another's. As for being deliberately hurt by magic,  _that_  was something within the realm of the school's control. Perhaps they needed another level of supervision of students.  _Perhaps responsible adults should live within each house to discipline the unruly ones and protect the younger and unassuming. . ._  
  
“Plotting world domination, Minerva?” a droll voice sounded in her ear. “Or, perhaps just when the cocktail hour should begin?”  
  
Minerva smiled and turned to face him. “World domination is more along your talents, isn't it, Severus? I only wish to make sure our world is populated by well-trained wizards.”  
  
“I have left my world dominating days behind me, Headmistress,” Severus replied. “As for training the next generation of evil doers, that remains to be seen. They don't seem to be getting any more clever than when we were in school.”  
  
Minerva snorted. “Since when has any teenager been clever? They always believe that of themselves, but it's only when they get to be our age that they realize treachery comes with experience.”  
  
They shared a private smile and walked out onto the stone steps and sat. “Thus endeth the one thousand, two hundred and twenty-first academic year of Hogwarts School,” she said softly.  
  
“Thank Merlin,” Severus said, clasping his hands together.   
  
“I think we sent out a good group of fully certified wizards this year,” she said. “I'm pleased Connor Magill and Agatha Blackthorne will be going on to study at the University of Edinburgh. They will both make fine healers one day”  
  
Severus nodded faintly. “He is one of the more clever lot. Some of them, though. . . .My god. I fear for all of humanity.”  
  
Minerva laughed again, and touched Severus's shoulder. “And as it has been for one thousand, two hundred and twenty-one years, the Wizarding world will survive, and even thrive.”  
  
They sat companionably in the warm sun, silently enjoying the peace and quiet together. For ten months of their lives, the simple act of  _doing nothing_ wasn't possible. Even less so was the joy of speaking with Severus Snape without a specific agenda. He wasn't an easy man to know or be with or even talk to. Severus rarely shared his personal thoughts (though he was never shy about telling you exactly what he thought about stupid or lazy students). He talked little about his time as a spy, saying only that those who needed to know, knew. She'd known some, mostly about his devotion to the Headmaster. During the darkest days, sometimes, she'd wondered, questioned, his motives, his loyalty to the school, to the Light. She had, after he'd fled like a great bat before the battle started, known what he was up to. Sort of. She new he had to 'play the role'; just what that role entailed, she was not sure at times.  
  
She knew she needed to have faith, if not in Severus, then in Albus. For he had told her Severus always had his full confidence and so should she. If she should ever doubt, she had to remember that Albus and Severus had a plan.  
  
“Good afternoon,” Harry Potter said as he strolled towards them, up the walkway from Hogsmeade and carrying a basket. “It's turned out to be a very nice day.”  
  
“Even nicer that the little cretins—no, pardon—the  _students_  have left for summer holiday,” Severus drawled.  
  
“Ahhh, that's what I love about you, Sev,” Harry replied. “Always the diplomat. Minerva, how are you?”  
  
“I must agree with my colleague,” Minerva said, removing her broad-brimmed hat and patting her bun. “I am relieved the cretins have departed and are now traveling swiftly on to reunite with their loving families.”  
  
Severus drew back and regarded her with a hint of a smile, at which Harry laughed. “Are you ready?” he asked, looking at Severus.  
  
Severus rose from the step and bowed to Minerva. “I must take my leave. Apparently, Harry expects me to join him for a picnic by the lake. After all, the weather has apparently cleared up just because he required an opportunity to eat  _al fresco_. Would you care to join us?”  
  
“Oh, my, that's very kind of you, but no, I have much to attend to here before I can leave for a brief family holiday,” Minerva said.  
  
“Where are you going, if I may ask?” Harry asked.  
  
“I have some cousins on the continent,” she replied. “They have invited me to a reunion at their summer cottage on the Black Sea. I haven't seen them in quite some time.”  
  
“That sounds. . . refreshing,” Severus said as he slowly walked down the stone steps. “Perhaps a trip to the ocean wouldn't be a bad thing.”  
  
Harry looked surprised at that admission. “Would you like to go? I've been dying to go down to Bournemouth.”  
  
Severus took the basket from him. “I think that would be acceptable.”  
  
Harry gave Minerva a comical face, one that said, “Holy shit, will wonders never cease!?” She, too, was surprised, not that they would go together, but that Severus actually admitted he was up for a holiday.  
  
“Farewell for now, Minerva,” Severus said. He turned and held out his hand to Harry, who took it. They walked sweetly towards the lake, Harry's free hand flapping animatedly as he talked while Severus listened intently to him.  
  
That Harry and Severus were together surprised everyone. But as time wore on, and she had watched them interact, she came to believe they were a good, even lovely, match. Harry wore responsibility well; as head of the Auror Division at the tender age of 25, he was committed, innovative and efficient. And Severus recognized that Harry was no longer a child, but a man of great personal integrity who exhibited many gifts. Seeing them together, though, made Minerva's heart swell because it made Severus so utterly, so perfectly  _normal_. Both of them. In finding love in the other, they'd found themselves, the  _best_  of themselves, together. For if Severus had inspired Harry to reach his full potential as an Auror, then Harry encouraged Severus to revel in contentment, with the world and with himself. Finally.  
  
Minerva stood and took one last look, shielding her eyes from the bright sun, at the retreating figures of Harry and Severus walking towards the lake, hand in hand.

It was, in fact, a beautiful day.

  
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